


The Gift of the Dragonborn

by ktyxdovahkiin



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, Holiday Season, The Gift of the Magi, christmas in skyrim, every single day is christmas day, it's christmas it's christmas in skyrim hip hip hip hip hip hooray
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 09:16:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17118587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktyxdovahkiin/pseuds/ktyxdovahkiin
Summary: It's the Day of the Dragonborn in Skyrim. We gather at Heljarchen Hall for the festivities. If we're lucky, the Dragonborn comes to attend, and we get to hear her Speak.This work contains a tribute to T.H. White's work in "The Once and Future King", and is also a homage to O. Henry's classic story, "The Gift of the Magi."





	The Gift of the Dragonborn

**Author's Note:**

> "Day of the Dragonborn" is one of the holidays that can be celebrated by NPCs in the game, with the mod "Holidays of Skyrim". The mod is endorsed by Bethesda, and so the holidays (including Saturalia) can be regarded as almost if not fully canonical.

At high-standing Heljarchen Hall we gather each year, on the day the Dragonborn vanquished Alduin World-Eater. On this day, we feast, dance, drink, sing and laugh. And last year, she joined us at this hall that she raised herself, and made merry with us, coming down upon her steading on the back of a dragon as is her wont.

On this day, too, my fellow bards from all over Skyrim come and we compete for prizes. I have never won the chief prize, but I am content, for Heljarchen Hall is my home, and my reward is in the songs I sing, the stories I tell and the music I play for the Shield Maidens here. As long as I gladden these valiant hearts, I in turn am glad.

Last year, though, I think my song was quite well-received. I called it “The Best Things in Life”, and it went like this:

 

 _I went about the land,_  
_And asked friend after friend:  
_ _What is best in life?_

 _Colette replied: The great boon of life is Health._  
_Strong limb, sturdy back, good teeth, thick hair;  
_ _These have the world’s wealth._

 _Brunwulf, aged Jarl, answered: Honor is our all._  
_Stout defender, path finder, people feeder, sage commander;  
_ _Upon these I call._

 _L_ _ynly the lightsome, Star-Sung, sang: Love I had liefer!_  
_Soft eyes, warm hands, tender touch, gentle kiss;  
_ _These live forever!_

 _Od_ _ar was for appetite: ah, he said, Eating!_  
_Sizzling grease, fragrant soup, sumptuous sauce, tasty fruit;  
_ _Now these are for living!_

 _Aranea praised Wisdom: Azura’s magnanimity._  
_Calm thought, clear eye, humble mind, deep knowing;  
_ _These learn Eternity._

 _But I, Oriella, choose Lay-making, of loud lilts which linger._  
_Horn-music, Laughter-song, Epic-heart, Joy-in-the-World;  
_ _These Oriella, the singer!_

 

I do think I did quite well with that, though in the end the guests and the Maidens acclaimed my friend Lynly, of whom I sang about, the winner. She gave a wonderful performance that evening, and her voice was in fine form, so I begrudge her not at all.

Then it was time for us to ask her to Speak.

“Speak to us of Love,” laughed Shield Maidens Helgi and Fridika as they leaned together, each with an arm around the other’s shoulder, for their love was then new-bloomed.

“No, you can both discover that on your own. The rest of us need to learn of other things! Speak to us of Wealth!” cried out Temba Wide-Arm, warm in her bearskin coat.

“Speak to us rather of Wisdom, Dovahkiin,” a few visiting mages from the College of Winterhold cried out. “That is wisest.”

Belethor of Whiterun stood and said, “Wisdom is a great gift, no doubt, but soon it will be Saturalia, in High Rock, and I really need to know what gift I should be getting for my relatives, whom I haven’t seen in quite a while, so speak to us of Gift-giving, Dragonborn!” They shouted at him most vociferously to sit down, and he did so with ill-grace.

Blind Dexion Evicus, a rare and honored guest, stood up and addressed her. “Dragonborn, if I may, I would like to hear more about, well, about you. We Moth Priests make study of many subjects, but I personally have never given enough attention to the nature of those like you. Quite a failing of mine, I know. Will you indulge me - speak to us of what it means to be Dragonborn?” He sat down again, and many around him looked thoughtful.

Then the Dragonborn stood up, and all fell silent. She looked around the hall, smiled, and said, “I will speak of all these things and more.”

And we listened.

* * *

Eighty-seven septims. That was all. A septim or two saved at a time by dint of fierce haggling and persistent bargaining until one’s cheeks burned with the disgraceful imputation of parsimony, or worse - impoverishment. Eighty-seven septims. Three times Muiri counted it. And the next day would be Saturalia.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop onto her straw bed and howl silently into her thin pillow. Eventually she drove all thoughts of concocting a Deathbell essence brew out of her mind, and sat up, sniffling softly so that Bothela would not hear.

Eighty-seven septims was less than half of what she needed for that Dwemer scabbard. No other gift would do - for too long already had her Cairine gone about with that shabby sheath for her hard-won Dwemer blade.

Her dear, dear Cairine - from the very lowliest of places she had risen, slowly and not gloriously, but at least she was no longer discarded upon the refuse heap of life. She had been a sickly disease-ridden beggar, living in the Warrens. Then she had been given sudden wealth by an unknown stranger of surpassing kindness, enough to begin buying herbs and tonics from The Hag’s Cure.

And that was how they had met, and fallen in love. Muiri’s hands were more practiced at brewing poisons of varying lethality, but for Cairine she put her fingers to the art of health-giving. For Cairine she made curative potions, as well as tonics to strengthen sinew and ward against disease. And if Bothela noticed how Muiri would slip a few extra portions of ingredients out of the storeroom to make an extra dose or so for Cairine, she never gave any sign that she had caught on.

Cairine found work as a merchant’s guard - she laughed, sometimes, that she of all people should have an aptitude for this line of work! The others back in the Warrens would never have believed it possible, she would say. Sickly, spindly Cairine, always on the verge of death, barely able to lift a spoon to feed herself, now working for a living as hired muscle? Pull the other one, it has got bells on.

But it was true nonetheless, and Muiri was so proud of her. Strong, lithe Cairine, who was quick on her feet and had good hand-eye coordination. Thanks to Muiri’s loving care and potent skill with herbal tonics, Cairine would say, and that was more than likely the case. The thought simply made Muiri happier and prouder.

It was steady, dependable work, and nowadays the roads were safer, so it paid less, but conversely it was less risky, and Muiri didn’t have to worry herself sick every time Cairine left Markarth. And on a previous trip, she had even returned with a rare prize - the caravan had made camp near an old Dwemer tower; Cairine had gone exploring, and she had found and claimed a Dwemer sword! A fabulous find, and it gave her more credibility with prospective employers.

It had been more than a month since Muiri had laid eyes on that Dwemer scabbard in Lisbet’s shop. It had been just the right shape and length - indeed, Muiri could almost believe that this had been the original scabbard made for the sword which now adorned her beloved’s waist. The dimensions were simply too perfect. And Lisbet’s price had been simply too high. Lisbet had grudgingly agreed to reserve it for her, but week after week her patience wore thinner. And now, she would hardly let it go for eighty-seven septims.

Poisoning Lisbet and taking the scabbard was simply out of the question. Too many citizens had taken note of how Muiri had wept and begged Lisbet not to sell it just yet, promising she would raise enough money to purchase it soon. It was not as if there were all that many in Markarth with such skills in poison as she possessed, either.

Suddenly, Muiri stood bolt upright. Her eyes were shining brightly, but her face had lost color. Her right hand closed about the fingers on her left hand.

Now, there were two possessions between the both of them in which they both took a mighty pride: Cairine’s Dwemer blade, and Muiri’s enchanted ring. The ring was unremarkable, lacking a stone in its setting - it had fallen out a long time ago, before it had even been passed to Muiri, but the magic was still strong, and it gave Muiri a good measure of skill with her alchemical trade.

She faltered for a moment, and a tear splashed onto the floor.

Then it was haste that was needed, as she ran out of the apothecary and down the streets towards the market square, where Kerah the jeweler had her stall.

“Will you buy my ring?” she asked Kerah.

“I buy rings. Take off your ring and let’s have a look at it,” Kerah replied.

Off came the plain silver band. But Kerah knew its worth, for she was a friend of Muiri.

“A hundred and fifty septims.”

“Give it to me quick.”

Then it was off, quickly, to Arnleif and Sons Trading Company. And thank the Divines, the scabbard was still there on the shelf.

Surely this had been made for her Cairine and no one else. It was fate, destiny. The will of the Divines. Whatever one wanted to call it. Cairine had found that sword, and here Muiri had found the scabbard for it, and she wanted her Cairine to have it. That was all there was to it, really.

Two hundred and twenty septims Lisbet took from her for it, and she took the remainder and hurried back, clutching the scabbard to her chest. With this at her waist, Cairine’s standing would rise. She currently held the sword at her belt with a leather loop. Muiri worried sometimes that Cairine would fall and cut her thigh. And surely the wealthier merchants would no longer look askance at a sellsword who couldn’t afford a proper sheath for her weapon.

Oh, but she’d have to study her craft harder, from here on out. Perhaps she had been coasting by too much, relying on the ring’s enchantment. Bothela would have cause to clout her about her ears a bit more, for making more mistakes, but she could always try harder.

The stew was in the pot and simmering nicely, by the time Cairine was supposed to return.

Muiri held the scabbard in her lap, and heard the door open. Then Cairine was coming down the steps, and Muiri rose to her feet, feeling herself flush.

Cairine looked tired. She had just finished a long trek from Whiterun Hold, and she had come straight here, not stopping at the Silver-Blood Inn. She was here to have dinner with her Muiri. The next day would be Saturalia. She had a gift for her Muiri.

“Oh, Cairine, my darling, look, look what I’ve got you,” Muiri said happily, and held out the Dwemer scabbard.

Cairine stood, as if thunderstruck.

“This would be perfect for your sword, wouldn’t it? Look at it, it’s just the right size and shape, I’m sure it would be a perfect fit. It’s beautiful. Like you. I sold off my ring so I could buy this from that pinchpenny Lisbet, but it’s worth it, Cairine dear, because you deserve a fine thing like this to hang at your belt.”

“You’ve… sold your ring?”

“Yes, but never mind about that, my love, I’ll just have to learn my craft better, is all. Bothela will teach me. You won’t… you won’t like me any less if my skill isn’t as good as it was before, will you?”

Out of a trance Cairine seemed to wake. With a sudden quick movement Cairine closed the distance between them, and enfolded her Muiri in a tight embrace.

For the next ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction.

“Muiri, my love,” she said, when they broke apart panting, “you know me better than that. You’ve brought me back from the brink of death. You’ve given me a far better life than I ever thought I could have. There is nothing that could make me love you any less. But… well… I should tell you why you had me a little astonished, just then. Here is what I’ve gotten for you.”

She reached into her pouch and took out a small paper-wrapped parcel, barely more than a wad of paper.

Muiri’s fingers tore at the paper. And then - an ecstatic scream of joy! Followed immediately by a wail of despair, necessitating the immediate deployment of all the comforting powers at Cairine’s disposal.

For there, in her palm, lay the Sapphire - the lovely, elegant sapphire gemstone Muiri had stood admiring for half an hour in the marketplace a few months ago at Kerah’s stall. Just the right size to go along with her silver band, to fit the socket that had been empty for perhaps generations. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship from Kerah, Muiri had known, and she had simply admired it without any hope of possession.

But she hugged it to her bosom, and then looked up at Cairine. “I could always save up for another ring, my love.” Then, “But your gift! Put it on, my love - let’s give your sword its proper home.”

Then her gaze alighted, at last, upon the weapon that was hanging at Cairine’s side. It was not a Dwemer sword.

Cairine unhooked the plain iron mace from her belt, set it down on the floor against the wall, and smiled. “Muiri, darling, let’s put aside our Saturalia presents and keep them for a while. They’re too nice to use just at present. I sold the sword to Lisbet to get the money to buy the sapphire from Kerah. And now, my dear, shall we have some of your lovely stew?”

* * *

The main hall was silent.

Then the Dragonborn looked up, smiled, and said, “Alessia, whom you all call Saint Alessia, was Dragonborn, though not as I am. For she is ‘Al-Esh’, the ‘High Highest’, and also called ‘Paravant’, the ‘First’, for she was the first to conceive of a new thing, to imagine a new thing and to tell the gods about it.

“She was the First to make covenant with Akatosh, who gave her the Amulet of Kings, the drop of Lorkhan’s blood that fell from his Heart as it flew across the sky, shot from Auriel’s Bow. And what is this covenant, but a covenant of love? For Alessia the Slave Empress had seen lifetimes of suffering all around her, and therefore did she make covenant with Akatosh.

“And so have the Dragonborn, of Dragon Blood, covenanted with Akatosh, ever been loving, and wise, whether they were wealthy or not. Martin Septim’s glory was undimmed by the simple robes he wore when he was simply Brother Martin of Kvatch. He, too, made a new covenant, and did a new thing in the world. And so we were sealed against Oblivion, and Mundus was made safe, though he gave us the gift of his life to make this thing.

“You have called me wise, and powerful. Perhaps I am as you say. And here I have rather lamely related to you the uneventful story of two foolish women in Markarth who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasure each possessed.

“But as a word from me, whom you all call wise, wealthy, loving, open-handed giver:

“Let it be said, that of all who give gifts, these two are the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts such as they are the wisest. Everywhere, in every place, in every kalpa of existence, they are the wisest.

“They are the Dragonborn.”

 

\- As written by Oriella, Bard of Heljarchen Hall


End file.
